


Giselle

by bumblebee_rose



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: Ballet AU, F/M, but the beginning is pure love, everything will end up fine, major angst to come, she believes him every time he says it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-16
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-05-24 05:03:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14948085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bumblebee_rose/pseuds/bumblebee_rose
Summary: They walked through the theatre, laying on props they probably shouldn’t be touching, and looking at the patterns the mosaic tiles made in the ceiling. He spun her around in the back wing, and she felt like she had just finished Odiles 32 fouettés. The room was slightly spinning, and her head felt a bit light as she leaned into his side.orThe Tessa and Scott ballet AU, influenced by the story of Giselle, and Anna Pavlova.





	1. Chapter 1

She has always been Giselle.

As long as she can remember, it has been her favourite ballet. Actually, if she’s being quite truthful, she’s always loved Anna Pavlova. She’s seen her become the dying swan that influenced Odette of Swan Lake, and take the stage as Aurora, but she’s also seen her die as Giselle. 

She’s watched that one clip on YouTube about five, ten, twenty times. Act two grand pas de deux, a romantic tutu all in white, and to her at least, the most heartbreaking display of love in any ballet. Giselle’s forbidden lover has come to pay respects to her grave, torn apart by the guilt of having been a cause of her death. He is then taken by the Wilis, Spirits of dead and abandoned women, who cast their revenge on any man who crosses their path. As they begin to dance him to death, he sees her once again, his love Giselle, and there starts the loneliest pas de deux she has ever seen. Giselle starts out by herself, dancing as if she is caught in limbo, she isn’t alive, but she feels, and she can’t escape. Although she is a Wili herself by death, they shun her, turning away when she gets near, all she has is her own grave.

Her love joins her then, guiding her through arabesques and lifts, brought down by the sorrow of having lost the girl he cast aside. But then it ends and there is forgiveness. Giselle has delayed his death by the Wilis and leaves his side forever after placing a single hand on his shoulder. In that action she has forgiven him for how he had once killed her. She is dead and her heart is broken, but now so is his. He is alive, but only thanks to her. Soon after, he is alone, and the guilt is still there. There is no happy ending for the pair, but Giselle has done something else for him. No longer do the Wilis haunt the forest by her grave, she has banished their presence with her love, and although she cannot be with him, she bids him a final farewell, and lays to rest peacefully.

She doesn’t know why it's her favourite ballet, but it always has been, and it always will be. She has performed before to Valse and Finale, but her favourite part of the entire ballet has always been that grand pas de deux. 

She wants to be Giselle one day. 

She wants to wear the romantic white dress, and the blue corset top of act one. She wants to dance alongside the wilis and discover her love in a place she thought she never would. She wouldn’t even mind being one of the peasant girls at the harvest festival, she just wants to be a part of it. Hold a fraction of the ballet she has loved so much in the deepest parts of her heart, rehearse long hours in the studio, and go for fittings in with the seamstress, she wants to feel Giselle.

But she’s not a professional dancer, she doesn’t belong to a real school, much less a company. She trains at the small studio in the middle of London Ontario, where the skylights create spots of bright on the floor, and the barres creak when she pushes down on them. She trains in the Cecchetti method, but that doesn’t stop her from following Anna Pavlova in Vaganova. She never really got why dancers had to stick to only one style, she wants to learn everything she can, dance in every way her body will let her.

 

She rents an hour of studio space every Sunday afternoon to dance for herself. No teachers, or other students, no contemporary class in the next room playing music that drowns out the piano of her sanctuary. Its just her, and the rosin marks her shoes make on the black marley. The shank of her shoe cracks as she snaps her feet into relevé, and her hip clicks when she brings her leg around in grand rond de jamb. 

She’s a bit broken, and a bit tired, her mother doesn’t want her to outdo her legs that have started to ache, but she still craves the feeling of her arms moving through port-de-bras like a spoon through honey and extending in développé as if she could reach the farthest corners of the earth. She takes workshops constantly, signs up for privates with her instructor, attends every extra class she can, and she’s started noticing something lately.

He’s always there. 

His name is Scott, and from what he’s told her, he trains in Ilderton only a 25-minute drive from where she’s always lived. He’s two years older than her, and he’s one of the best ballet dancers she has ever seen. They were in the same production of The Nutcracker once. He was the Cavalier and she was a flower, so they were never actually in any scenes together, but she watched him rehearse the pas de deux with the Sugarplum Fairy every week. It wasn’t a large-scale performance, just a mix of studios coming together to perform for a few days during Christmas time, but she loved it.

She loved the Waltz of the Flowers music, and the pale pink dress that floated just below her knees. She loved the arm poufs even though they were scratchy, and the stage lights even if they blinded her when she dared to look. She loved watching in the wings, helping dancers with more roles quickly change costumes, and tie satin ribbons into the hair of the party girls. She really loved watching him. The act two grand pas de deux always seem to come back to her in way, but this time it is pure beauty. A dance between friends and matured lovers safe in their world, a contrast to Giselle and her love, torn apart by death. Everyone usually watched the fairy and she did too, but she watched him the most.

Her favourite performance was the last one. She was sitting in the hall outside the dressing room, stretching and finishing up on homework that as much as she told her teachers would be impossible to complete during show week, still ended up being her second priority behind the show. She was tired, from the week of performing, and her tights were starting to get back spots from walking around without her boots on, but she was also a bit sad. She really did love to dance, and she was close to reaching the end of her chances to do so. When she reached eighteen she had to go off to university if she couldn’t make it into a company, or find another opportunity to dance, and with two years left, she was starting to get worried. Sixteen meant start auditioning everywhere possible, take every chance you can to dance because it wont last forever, everything ends eventually.

She leaned against the wall to stretch out her back and take a break from the numbers that didn’t make any sense inside her head, when she heard the sound of footsteps walking towards her. It was him. They had spoken a few times before, stood at opposite sides of the same barre, waved to each other in busy rooms, but he’s never sought her out before. She watched him as he made his way down the hall and sat beside her, picking up one of her worksheets.

“Math? You spend your break doing math?” He asked her.

“Its not like I have much of a choice.” She sighed.

“Just wait until grade 12.” He said, eyes crinkling at their corners, “That’s what I call hell.”

“I feel like my personal hell, is Suzanne making the flowers rehearse the first 20 seconds a million times until we finally got the exact same height of the swoop of the arms into fourth.”

“Yeah,” He said wincing, “That was rough. How many times did she make you guys leave the stage and restart?”

“I honestly couldn’t tell you.” She said, rubbing the sides of her temples. 

He smiled and looked down before turning towards her “What do you think you’re going to do? You know, after all this is over. Dance-wise.”

“I really don’t know.” She admitted, “I don’t want to stop, but I don’t know where I would go.”

“honestly Tessa” He said, “I think you should audition at the national, its worth a shot.” He said, running a hand through his hair “I mean, I’m going to at least try.”

“You really think so?” She asked, “I’ve always thought about it, but every year I chicken out.” She said laughing to herself.

“There’s no harm in trying.” He said, and she supposed there wasn’t.

He made her pinky promise that he would see her there, and she made him pinky promise that he wouldn’t forget about her when he got big. They walked through the theatre, laying on props they probably shouldn’t be touching, and looking at the patterns the mosaic tiles made in the ceiling. He spun her around in the back wing, and she felt like she had just finished Odiles 32 fouettés. The room was slightly spinning and her head felt a bit light as she leaned into his side. He laughed at her imitations of Suzanne, and she smiled when he tried on a white wig he found among the costume rack.

An hour later they were both waiting backstage. The sound of the audience talking mixing into a hum of white noise, and pointe shoes gently knocking on the floor kept her occupied as she sat on a prop chair, with the very top of her costume folded down and her arms just out of her sleeves.

“Why is your costume half off?” He asked, as he walked up to her.

“Sweat.” She simply replied, raising her elbows.

He laughed and she did too. There was no reason for him to be embarrassed or uncomfortable at seeing her shoulders or the space below her collarbones. She was covered where she needed to be, and he was around half naked girls all day anyways. A thin leotard and pink tights didn’t exactly leave much to the imagination. Hell, half the girls with three quarter sleeves had their tops off completely, walking around in stickies, or white sport bras. Still, she saw his cheeks go a bit pink as he mumbled something about going to rehearse and walked towards the other side of the stage.

Before she went on for Waltz of the Flowers, he gave her a thumbs up and a cheesy smile that she returned, before changing it to something more serene and appropriate for ballet. People had always told her that her expressions were the best part of watching her dance. She always genuinely looked like she enjoyed dancing, and everything that came along with it, which was true, ballet was her entire life. Add along the absence of stress from judges, and it was the happiest she had ever been onstage, nothing was quite like dancing to perform and not to win.

Later she watched as he entered the stage with his partner beside him as the music slowly began. She watched as his hands carefully held her waist, supporting her and catching the tips of her fingers above her head. The navy-blue velvet of his top caught the stage lights and made waves along the fabric that moved gracefully with his body. As the music started to build, he spun her once, twice, in his arms, letting her extend into second and pull back in to a double which she ended straight up, before turning into arabesque and rolling down onto flat. As the dancer ran to the back, he did the same, catching her eyes in the wings as he made his way upstage. She folded her arms over her center as she smiled, swaying from side to side in time with the music, and holding her breath when the dancer completed her final set of pirouettes ending to his side as the music finished with a final beat. She clapped and watched him run offstage as the dancer made her way to the back corner to start her solo, the strong flute and oboe still playing inside her head. His hair was slicked back with sweat, and she could see drops of wet on his forehead, ballet really was hard. As he made his way past her, he flashed a blinding smile, before continuing to jog back to the boys change room.

She really did love a good grand pas de deux.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The view directly in front of her didn’t hurt either.
> 
> She watched the muscles of his back through his thin cotton T shirt, and traced the lines of him arms, as they transitioned into fourth. She had no doubt he would make it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much to @bucketofrice who helped me with the first paragraph (basically rewrote it) and made it 100% better than anything i could ever write. im sorry the fic is so downhill from there.
> 
> A lot of this is based on personal experience, (as you can probably tell) and its mostly old memories but i try to make it accurate as possible.

It was finally January, which meant she was currently in the back seat of a car, on her way to Toronto. As they drove past tall buildings and train stations, she watched tiny drops of rainwater slide down the window in rivulets, racing each other to the bottom of the glass. Her hair was in the tightest, neatest bun it had ever been in, and her pink tights didn’t have a hint of smudged black on them. Her nails were scrubbed clean of polish, and she could feel the tightness in her body all the way through to her fingertips. She was hyperaware of every inch of herself, from her slicked-back hair to the slightly scratchy feeling of her new leotard. She looked as polished as the ballerinas she saw on posters outside the school, their perfectly posed figures advertising ballets and sponsor opportunities. That was her mother’s strategy, after all: dress to impress.

She had been there before of course, what ballet dancer hasn’t? But today was different.

She leans the side of her head against the cool glass of the window and tunes herself out from the honking cars and city sounds. She likes Toronto, always will. She likes the tall architecture of the buildings and looking at her reflection in the tinted store windows. She likes the maze of the Eaton Center, and the way the city lights up underneath the night sky. 

She thinks she wouldn’t mind living here if she had to. She could get used to dancing to the sounds of rubber soles hitting concrete, and heels clicking on tiled floors. She could move in the spaces of chaos, breathe with every breath this bustling city makes. She would talk confidently, buying floppy hats in boutiques and purchasing _one token for the subway please._

She really wants to visit the ROM. It’s a weird design, all sharp angles that stand out amongst the old brick of the nearby buildings. It’s awkward and ugly, too much of this or that, but then again, she has never been one to fit in either. Slotting herself into neat boxes to be packaged away has never been her forte. 

_She would rather be vast and brilliant._

Her mother once told her that of all the stars in the sky, she would be Polaris. The Northern Star, brightest of them all, constant and unmoving. She was infinite and undying, unstoppable when she wanted to be, fire in her eyes and ice running through her veins. 

Unfortunately wonders of nature aren’t created in gentle showers. _No,_ they are forged in storms.

Her mother calls from the front seat, announcing that they’ll be there in 10 minutes, so she starts to go through the list in her head, the same one she recites when practice is too long, or she can’t stand to do the same 30 seconds of choreography again. 

It’s the list she wrote when her teacher asked why she loved to dance, and she didn’t have an honest answer. 

She loves to dance because foremost it is a part of her. When she danced, she could feel it come from her chest. She reached into the most protected parts of her heart, letting herself become vulnerable to the world, and leaving a piece of herself for everyone who stayed to watch. She loved the release, like her soul could finally be in tune with her mind. She was a bird breaking free from a cage, unshackling her chains, and spreading her wings. It was a most wonderous feeling.

She loved the costumes and the makeup. Transforming into a different person, in a different place. Onstage she was undefined. She didn’t have to be Tessa Virtue from London, with 2 older brothers who teased her endlessly, and 7 unfinished reports to work on. She could be Esmeralda with a tambourine, strong and defined, or Swanhilda in the inventor’s house, witty and charming. She could be a swan or a fairy, a queen or a peasant girl. She loved shedding her skin and becoming something more than she was. 

Lastly, she loved the escape. When she danced she didn’t worry or think about anything else. The piano crooned sweet-sounding notes that made her feet move of their own accord, and her arms follow lines that extended past her shoulders. The studio walls blocked out the rest of her life. It didn’t matter what happened the hour, minute, second after she closed the doors. _It was her paradise, her moment of silence, her grand adventure._

Dance and necessity went along with each other perfectly, one and the same in every instance. She didn’t dance because she wanted to, she danced because she needed to. Needed the thrum of the speakers in her bones and the touch of marley on bare feet. She had to feel the warmth of the stage lights on her skin and see colours behind her closed eyelids. 

It didn’t hit her until then, how much she wanted that spot. She wanted her number to be called more than anything she could ever desire. The fact that she didn’t get a new bike on her eighth birthday didn’t matter, if it meant that she could have this. It was bigger than her, bigger than anything she had ever been up against, yet a calm settled over her, and it followed her all the way to the clear glass doors. 

It followed her past the lady with the kind eyes who asked for her name please, and a man who gave her a small keychain with the school’s logo on it. It followed her as she accepted her number, thirty, and pinned it onto the black cotton of her leotard. It followed her up the staircase, her fingers grazing the smooth wood of the walls and the cold metal of the railing. It followed her into a room with clear glass windows and black sheets hanging over the mirrors, a grand piano in the corner, and a slew of faculty sitting at the front, all in a line.

They had been put into lines of six, with five rows in total making thirty altogether. Funnily enough, alphabetical order had never been her pick of poison, yet _Tessa V_ for Virtue was still placed in the very back line on the far-right side. She noticed him as soon as he walked in the room, he promised he would be there after all. _Scott M_ for Moir was one row ahead of her, beside the _L’s_ and _N’s_ , twiddling his hands behind his back.

An old dancers habit during auditions.

Never show them you’re nervous, had been drilled into her head more times than she cared to know. _“Don’t pick at your leotard, don’t touch your hair, if you must do something with your hands, put them behind your back.”_. She heard that directors could smell fear anyways, so it really didn’t matter where your hands were in the long run.

It was like he was hyper-aware of her eyes watching him. He released his hands and let them fall to his sides, moving his fingers in the most subtle wave she had ever seen. She merely smiled and caught his eye as he turned his head to the side, covering it up as a stretch of the neck, as he turned his head to look at the other wall.

The room was so quiet she could hear a pin drop, the only noises being the offhand comment from a concerned parent to another, and the pianist adjusting her stool. It was hard to breathe suddenly, in that room with the highest ceilings she had ever seen, but she didn’t have a chance to catch her breath, as one of the women clad in a company shirt made their way to the front of the room.

She introduced herself as their demonstrator for the day, and explained the general progression of the audition, but Tessa couldn’t hear a word she said. Her ears felt like they had been stuffed with cotton, and her shoulders felt like they carried the weight of her entire future. In short, she was _terrified._

She took a deep breath and turned to corner two, along with the demonstrator, following a grand plié that lasted the longest 8 counts she had ever had to endure in her life. As she transitioned into a tendu that brought her square to the front, she finally began to relax. She had done this her entire life, gone through the movements more times than she could count, faced far worse before. It was as if she realized where she was. She was at _The National Ballet School of Canada_ , dancing in the same room as so many before her, letting her body release to the same counts Anna Pavlova had so long ago.

The view directly in front of her didn’t hurt either.

She watched the muscles of his back through his thin cotton T shirt, and traced the lines of him arms, as they transitioned into fourth. She had no doubt he would make it. Boys had it easier in the dance world that way, nearly anywhere would take a boy if they had a passion for dance, and enough ability to make it through class. Scott was different though, a once in a generation talent. It was already odd that he hadn’t been swooped up yet by another company, he was just the right height, and was strong enough to lift, his arms were beautiful, and his hip rotation was beyond anything she had. He was naturally gifted, but it didn’t mean he didn’t still work just as hard as anyone else.

She shook thoughts of him from her head as the music of the piano started up. A slow ballad of gentle notes. She smiled gently, there was nothing quite like live music. Each line did the exercise individually, with the front line running to the sides once their turn was done. It was all so structured and exact, and she loved it. She could spend forever in this room, with the grey worn flooring, and the wooden barres lining the walls. It felt like home in every way imaginable. She waltzed through balancé’s, stepping in time with the 1-2-3-1-2-3 of the notes, and brushing through the floor on each one.

It was impossible to tell any opinions from the stoic faces that sat in front of her. They simply watched with neutral expressions, and occasionally wrote something, only to sit back up straighter and continue their emotionless survey of the group. The only friendly looking face was the pianist who would occasionally look over and smile or give a thumbs up when moments were tense.

She could feel her hair, sticky from the hairspray, and her calves, sore from exertion, but he always brought her back.

Every chance he got, he stood beside her. Never really touching, sometimes just grazing shoulders or backs of hands, having entire conversations between their eyes. It was almost electric, they couldn’t talk, make any noises, communicate in any way, yet they were connected.

after a series of exercises in the center, and some from the corner, they were brought back into their lines where they were told to lie on the ground with the bottoms on their feet touching and their knees open towards the ground. Some girls had more flexible hips, while others were struggling to keep their back from arching. They did various stretches on the ground, folding their body over their legs, falling into splits, and simply pointing their toes. They were being analyzed in every way, from their posture, to the length of their legs, to whether or not their ears stuck out. She had heard stories of ballerinas who had to get their ears pinned back and just hoped that hers weren’t too big.

 

Nothing about the process was left up to chance, it was all so meticulously planned. Prior to arriving, her mother had to fill out several sheets of paperwork. Her height, the height of both her parents, her experiences, her training, her parents occupations, and a printed-out picture of her in second, were among some of the details.

Soon enough they were asked to stand as the demonstrator gave the usual speech. _Don’t stop dancing, come back and audition again, always keep going, follow your dreams._ It was so rehearsed and free of emotion, and left a bitter taste in her mouth. She didn’t want to leave this room empty handed.

The woman then asked if the numbers called could stay outside the door and began to read them off.

 _“Number three.”_ A skinny girl with nimble fingers and warm eyes.

 _“Number fifteen.”_ A average looking girl with caramel coloured hair and a dark burgundy leotard.

 _“Number twenty-one.”_ Scott, which she knew anyways.

One more.

She couldn’t bear the anxiety, she felt her heartbeat in her toes, and all the blood in her body rushing straight to her head. Half of her wanted to run away, while the other half kept her feet firmly planted on the ground, eyes laser focused and praying to whatever god would listen. She truly in that moment wouldn’t have minded if the floor opened up beneath her, swallowing her forever.

_“Number thirty.” Her._

She felt like falling but she wasn’t moving. Her knees turned to jelly, and her entire body felt useless.

She couldn’t believe it. _She actually did it._

She found Scott’s eyes as he turned around to look at her with nothing but pure elation is his expression, that she could feel mirrored hers. Her cheeks hurt from smiling as she let out something between a laugh and a cry, bringing her hands up to smooth out her hair. She met her mother’s eyes from across the room and saw a similar expression on her face, choosing to forget about the strict rules of the school and run straight into her arms.

“I am so proud of you.” Was the first thing her mother could properly get out in between sobs.

All she could do was hug her tighter and press the side of her cheek closer to her mothers.

As they made their way out the door, she suddenly remembered about Scott again, who was leaning against the wooden panelling just outside the window. She left her mother and made her way towards him, walking until he saw her, then running straight at him. She threw her arms around his neck, as he took a step back, bumping into the wall behind him. He only pulled her closer, fitting his nose into the crook of her neck and laughing into her shoulder. He just kept repeating the same thing. _“We did it, we did it, we did it.”_ All she could do was press herself further against him and smile. 

Even when they separated he still didn’t let go of her, holding onto her hands like they were a lifeline, and he was a man on his deathbed. She watched his eyes as they swept over her once before looking directly into hers. They were hazel with a thousand different brown and greens, an entire forest in such a small space. All she could do was blink away tears and squeeze his hands once before letting them go and turning to look at her mother, who was now joined by his, with equally quizzical expressions on their faces.

They both took a step back from each other, pink blossoming on their cheeks. They called his number at that moment, meaning he had to go talk with the representatives about the summer program, while she had to wait outside a bit longer.

Her mother didn’t ask questions, but merely raised an eyebrow as she watched him go.

5 minutes later, he walked out of the room with a booklet full of papers, and his mother in tow beside him, which meant it was her turn. As she passed him, he grabbed her hand, only for a second before releasing it, almost to reassure her that it was all really happening.

In the room they explained to her how the summer program worked. She would stay in residence at the school, or nearby with family if she could, for four weeks of classes. At the end of the four weeks, a select number of students would be chosen to stay at the school full time to train if they accepted and would work towards being part of the company. They handed her a booklet that felt and looked about one hundred pages long, full of information. What to pack, daily schedules, information on the program, rules, and roommates all bundled into a neat package of over one hundred pages. They shook the hands of each of the administrators who told her how excited they were to have her, and how much they enjoyed watching her dance, before she made her way back outside.

“Thought I would wait for you.” Said a voice to her side.

It was Scott, with a crooked smile, and she same booklet she was currently carrying in his hands.

“You know, I think mines a bit bigger which is unfair really,” He said, tilting his head to the side “Because if anything, you’re the one who needs to read up on the rules.”

“Ooookay Scott” She said, shaking her head, “But I don’t think I’m going to be the one caught- _how did they word it?_ ‘fraternizing with outside guests’” She said, emphasizing the rule with finger quotations.

“It’s not _my_ fault I’m charming!” He laughed, raising his hands in defense, “But I pinky promise I’ll follow the rules if you want me to.” He said, as he raised his pinky to hers.

She wrapped her finger around his as she leaned in.

“Were both going to make it okay.” She said as seriously as she could muster with his face so close to hers.

He smiled and he looked like such a boy in that moment with his hair sticking in twenty different directions, and his breath nearly on her lips.

“You got it Virtch. Here’s to kicking this summer programs ass.” He said softly, before pulling away and walking in the direction of the stairs away from her disapproving smile.

“See you soon Tessa Virtue.” He said waving.

“See you soon Scott Moir.” She said, waving back.

As she picked up her bag, something small and silver fell out. The keychain from earlier that day, that she had shoved into a pocket only half focusing on where it landed. She moved the pad of her finger against the smooth acrylic of the logo a few times before hooking it onto the zipper of her old studio jacket and making her way down the stairs.

Act one had finally begun


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They stand there for a few more seconds, breathing in each other, her temple resting against the side of his cheek, when a sudden gust of wind from the open window slams her door shut. Neither of them move or speak until he shifts against her, swallowing lightly.
> 
> “It’s against the rules now.”

There’s something strangely intimate about talking over the phone when you can barely stay awake. Rubbing at tired eyes, and purple tinted circles on porcelain skin. Digital numbers glowing green on bedside clocks, and late-night trips downstairs for glasses of water to soothe hoarse voices.

They talk on the phone a lot.

They exchanged numbers somewhere in between The Nutcracker and January, messily scrawled on ripped pieces of notebook paper with dripping pens. She almost has his memorized now, tattooed onto the surface of her brain, and traced into the wood of her desk at school. She can call him with her eyes closed, fingers already possessing the muscle memory to find each number on her small house phone. 

She packs her bags with him on speakerphone.

They argue about how many pairs of socks they’ll need, (she decided eight) and how much junk food they can get away with, (as much as possible). They read through the schedule of a months worth of activities and decide together what they want to do. She chooses night out at the movies, and he chooses Canada's Wonderland, even though she hates roller coasters. She persuades him to go to the Eaton Center with her, and he settles on a Blue Jay’s game. They both compromise with a night downtown and an hour of public skating, regardless of the fact that neither of them can really skate in the first place.

She folds black leotards into neat piles and rolls pairs of tights into small cylinders, while he tells her about his day. He tells her how much of an ass his older brother was on Tuesday and how many times his mom has cried since they got back from the audition. He chews pieces of _something_ right into the receiver and reads aloud from the packet they both have.

“ _’Rule #32, Male and female students are not to consort in residence bedrooms with doors closed’_ , Ah you hear that Tess? We’re not to be trusted on our own.”

She can hear his smirk through the phone. 

Sometimes they don’t say anything. She’ll highlight classes on her itinerary and figure out whether its better to get a card for the subway or tokens, and he’ll just listen. Listen to the sounds of markers squeaking against paper, and keyboard keys clacking, speaking up once in a while to ask how many tubes of toothpaste she’s bringing- _One, Scott,_ or to ask whether or not he should bring a box of condoms- _You’ve clearly already forgotten about rule #32._

Other times he never stops talking, and she figures out that sometimes the only thing to do, is let him talk. He talked for _twenty minutes straight_ once about how uncomfortable the beds were bound to be.

_“I mean, there’s no way that they have real mattresses, I bet they have those really uncomfortable green ones that they put in kids bunk beds in hotels- you know the ones. Anyways, I think we should bring our own-- “_

She ended that conversation by telling him _yes,_ they would probably be uncomfortable, but _no,_ they were not bringing mattresses all the way to Toronto, which resulted in five minutes of over-the-phone-pouting, and more than one exasperated sigh from her.

Its only late at night when his nonsensical ranting starts to take form, and she realizes how nervous he actually is. He tells her how scared he is that he’s wasting six thousand dollars of his parent’s money, and how guilty he feels every time his mom asks him if he’s sure he wants to go with red tinged eyes, how worried he’s been that he’s not enough. She tells him how her shins have started hurting more, but she doesn’t want to bother her parents, and how she’s not sure if its worth it for her to spend four weeks there, only to be sent home at the end.

They speak softly to each other in simple reassurances and gentle words of encouragement. They have each other, and they both cling to the small bit of faith that that will be enough.

He stays up with her the night before they leave. Her bags are all packed, have been for two weeks, clothes packaged like Tetris blocks into black suitcases with bright blue name tags and silver detailing. She has a folder full of pages in those clear sheet protectors that her mom used to use to store her old report cards, but she still feels unprepared.

He stays up with her as she cries into the phone. She’s been a mess all day, double and triple checking everything, going over lists too many times to the point where her whole family is stressed from her worrying alone.

He stays up with her until her cries turn into ragged breathing, and he whispers sweet sounding things into the phone. She’s scared about what happens if she doesn’t get accepted for the school year, but she’s also scared about what happens if she does.

She loves her family, loves London, loves the school she goes to, loves the wrinkles in the floor at her studio, and loves the barres that sink when she presses down on them. If she gets accepted to the school full time, she has to give all of this up. She has to give up family dinners at their long dining table, and weekends out with her friends. She has to give up Saturdays alone at the studio and walks through downtown London. She already knows she’s going to miss her room. She’s going to miss the pale pink colour of her walls and the plant she named Jane. She’s going to miss her bookshelf in alphabetical order and the pairs of dead pointe shoes hanging off of every available surface, not that pointe shoes will be a rarity during those four weeks.

He stays up with her until she breathes calmly again, and she’s sure her parents haven’t been woken up by the noise. She listens as he tells her that he’s just as scared as she is, but that its all going to be ok, and she really believes him. 

She wakes up the next morning with the phone an inch from her hand and her face pressed into the side of her comforter. Sunlight is streaming through the window by her bed, and her alarm clock is set to go off in five minutes, which annoys her considerably since she’ll never get those five minutes of sleep back. 

As bare feet make their way across the floor just outside her door, she slowly starts to get up. She rubs sleep out of the corners of her eyes, and stretches, every bone in her back cracking. Her friends at school used to think her constantly cracking joints were disgusting, but it was the occupational hazard of hours at the studio.

She opens the door which lets out a noise that seems to echo down the hall. She walks through her cold house with grey walls and tries to memorize each scratch in the paint, each dent in the flooring. She won’t see those marks for a whole four weeks after today. It’s a weird feeling. She’s scared out of her mind, but she’s also mind-numbingly, and prodigiously excited.

She’s going to train for an entire month with real teachers, at a real ballet school. She’ll get to dance in those studios all day, take trips to the shoe room, learn variations, improve her technique; its an extraordinary opportunity, and she’s so lucky. _They chose me_ she thinks, stopping in her stride. They chose _her_ , Tessa Virtue from London, because they thought she had potential to be more, and its just about the best feeling she has ever experienced.

That feeling gets put on halt when she walks into the kitchen to see her mother sitting at the table with an untouched cup of coffee beside her. Her mom looks up as she enters the room, hastily straightening herself out and picking up the cup of coffee.

“Good morning love.” Her mother says, avoiding her eyes as she stares down at the paper.

“Good morning mom.” She says, stepping softly towards her. She makes it about 3 more steps before her mother closes the paper and pulls her into a hug in one movement.

“I’m sorry.” She says, laughing lightly, “I’m just really going to miss having you with me. You know I love all of you equally, but everything has been about you for so long, its just strange. We drive you to the studio, I pick up pairs of shoes, we go for fittings. You take up such a large space in our lives, its like I’m sending you off to college.” She sniffs.

“It’s okay mom.” She says, pulling back “I’m sure the boys will keep you busy.”

“I’m sure they will.” she chuckles “But-Oh Tessa, I have a feeling this won’t be the last time we drop you off at that school.”

“Mom- “She says

“I’m serious.” Her mother says, looking into her eyes, “You’re beautiful Tessa, you really are, and there’s no doubt in my mind that you won’t get everything you want in life- none- and I know how much you want this, so I’m letting go now, because I know that if I do you’ll be up on that stage, and as your mother, its _all_ I can hope for.”

She hugs her mom again, for the last time that day, and for the last time for 4 weeks, before releasing her, and making her way towards the pantry. 

She tries to have cereal with milk, but the milk tastes bitter in her mouth, and she can’t make her hand pick up the spoon again. After 5 minutes of staring down at soggy cereal, she places it by the sink, and resolves to reading through her folder of papers again.

It all happens too quickly, like her life has been put on fast forward. One minute she’s dabbing concealer under the eyes, and the next she’s helping her dad load her bags into the truck. Not long after, they’re on the 403, and seconds later, she’s standing in her empty room with her bags at her feet. 

Her sister crushes her in a hug, and her parents have to gently pull their oldest daughter away when they see their youngest shoot them a warning look, followed by tears starting to well up in in both their daughter’s eyes. She told them before that she didn’t want an extravagant, sentimental goodbye, she wanted simple and easy and quick, like ripping off a Band-Aid, which in the end, was exactly what she got. 

She’s feels her sister’s arms leave her, and suddenly she’s all alone, with her door left wide open, and a suitcase that’s full of home

She sits down onto the edge of the bed and stares at the white walls that seem to box her in. She needs air suddenly, because the smell of fresh linen is making her head spin, and if she doesn’t get outside, she thinks she might throw up. She crashes out of the door of her room, and runs down the stairs out onto the sidewalk, where she’s greeted with honking cars, and busy streets. 

Not _ideal_ when you’re feeling sick to your stomach, but she’ll take it over that room.

She puts her hands on her knees as she takes deep breaths to calm herself, _in, and out, in, and out._ She straightens up, she’ll be okay. Her family is only _two_ hours away, she can speak to them in _two_ weeks when they get phone privileges, it’s only _two_ more years until she loses this opportunity forever. As she begins to go over every detail that might make all of this better, he rounds the corner.

“Tess!” He calls out, waving at her, “Hey I didn’t know you were here already, how- “

He sees her then, breathing heavily in front of the residence building with her fingernails pressing into the palms of her hands in tight fists. 

“Tess are you ok?” He asks, walking up to her.

“I’m fine.” She says with a watery smile, “It’s just a lot right now.”

“Tell me about it.” He says, glancing up at the building behind them. “Hey, why don’t you show me your room?”

“Scott,” She says, “You know that’s against the rules, I’m not getting kicked out on my first day.”

“Actually, its only against the rules if the door is closed,” He tells her, “So why don’t we go upstairs, and you can show me your binder of notes, which I’m sure is very impressive and very interesting.”

She laughs softly as he places his hand on the small of her back, and guides her back into the building, up the stairs, and into the room with white walls that felt suffocating a minute ago.

He sits in the chair by the desk next to the window and flips through one of her books. He’s wearing a loose white T shirt and faded jeans that are a bit too short for him, and his hair is freshly cut. 

He looks a lot younger when he’s not wearing tights and a fitted shirt. 

Sometimes when he dances he gets a crease between his eyebrows, and his forehead scrunches up. It makes him look a lot older, like he’s 20 and in some mature company. She can tell when something is hard for him, because he presses his back molars together, and his jaw turns from a soft curve into a sharp line that sits tight against his cheeks. 

But now he just looks like a boy.

Just looks like a boy, sitting in her room, in a loose white T shirt and too-short faded jeans, flipping through her favourite book. 

She stares and him for a few seconds until he looks up, asking what she’s doing. She just shrugs her shoulders and goes to unzip the side of her suitcase, but before she can get there, he stands up throwing her book onto the bed, and pulling her in close to him. He’s always been touchy, pulling at the straps of her bodysuit when she’s not looking, and resting his chin on the top of her head, but this isn’t about touching.  
They stand there in this foreign place, with white walls that match the cotton of his T-shirt, and the only real part of home being each other. 

They stand there for a few more seconds, breathing in each other, her temple resting against the side of his cheek, when a sudden gust of wind from the open window slams her door shut. Neither of them move or speak until he shifts against her, swallowing lightly.

“It’s against the rules now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i promise ill let them start training soon, i just needed to get them all settled in first :)
> 
> comments and kudos literally keep me going so thank you to everyone who has given them so far <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She tries each one of them on, feeling the smooth material of the bodysuits and the delicate lace along her arms. She likes the cranberry one with the high collar, and bronze buttons down the back best. When she shows him, he traces his finger down each one, carefully following the dip in her spine.

Her roommate knocks on the door and opens it at that very moment.

They jump apart from each other as if they have been electrocuted, making a bubble of space between them that hadn’t previously existed. Her fingertips feel almost burnt, smoking at the edges and raw. Every place he had touched her felt charged with energy.

Her roommate looked between them with a confused face. She was to _every_ detail, the National Ballet’s poster child. Skinny legs and arms, high cheekbones and a sharp nose. She had _the_ ballerinas body, only small curves accentuating her hips and delicate hands that moved like water. Her long dark hair was pulled up to a high ponytail, hair sprayed to an inch of its life. There were no wisps of hair that fell around her ears or flyaways that could catch in the light from the window, in short, she was pretty damn near perfect.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything.” She said, ever a cliché as she glanced between the two of them. Even her voice was perfect. Just the right tone, not too high, but fitting for her tiny frame.

“No, No. This is just Scott,” She explained, gesturing to him, “He’s an….um,” she stalled as she searched for a word that could possibly describe him, “old friend from home.” She settled on with a nod.

“Oh.” Said the girl, eyes flicking between the two of them. “Have you chosen a bed?” She blurted out, clearly trying to change the subject of conversation.

‘‘Yea.” Said Tessa, turning towards the only single bed in the room, “I hope that’s okay.” she said nervously.

It was all very awkward; this conversation. The room felt a little too sickly-sweet, and her words tasted syrupy as they came from her mouth.

“Of course.” Replied the girl, as she glanced with a frown towards the bunk beds on the other side of the room.

Tessa could tell she was not in fact “okay” with the sleeping arrangement, but she really didn’t want to stick around to discuss it in that overly polite manner they had adopted. She was probably being rude, but she placed her suitcase on top of the comforter to secure her spot, and suddenly remembering Scott who had stood awkwardly through the duration of the conversation, pulled him out of the room along with her, excusing herself, and waving goodbye to her new roommate.

 

“I’m guessing you don’t want to go back anytime soon.” He said with a smirk, as they made their way down the stairs.

“What could have given you that impression?” she questioned, tilting her head.

“Just the general look of dread in your eyes--Hey, we can always walk around he city.” He said, scratching the back of his neck. “We don’t have to check in until six so I think we’re safe to leave until then.”

She nodded as they stepped out into the bright sunshine of the front step. They had a few hours to kill, none that couldn’t be spent walking through the tall architecture of nearby buildings, or the cool shade they produced. 

She dragged both of them to the shoe room first, since it was only a half a block away from the residence area, directly beside the school, and she wanted a new bodysuit to wear for the first day. As they stepped through the door, a bell chimed above their heads, ringing out sweetly. She had been there before, once about 5 years ago to get her first pair of pointe shoes.

She remembers the anxiety of trying to find a pair that fit properly. She stood on an elevated platform in the fitting room as a woman with kind eyes brought out a few pairs of shoes for her to try. They were all different brands and sizes, none of which she could understand properly. The Gaynor Minden’s were curved and tapered, like they were boxing her feet in and forcing them to arch; she didn’t like them very much. The woman mumbled something about going up an X, which again she had no idea what to make of, resigning to nodding and allowing the woman to open another box. After a few pairs, she finally got the hang of it. The actual size of the shoe was smaller than a street shoe, so she was about a 5. The number of X’s was the width of the shoe; she was 3X. 

It was a completely new language she had to learn. What the shank was, where the vamp had to sit on her foot, it was like learning anatomy but with a shoe. She left the shop that day after about 10 tried-on pairs, with her own satin pointe shoes in a canvas bag, and freshly cut elastic to be sewn on. She remembers refusing to let go of them until she had to go to bed that night, placing them on their bedside table, no further away than she could help.

Its funny, the continuity of things, because now she’s in that same store for another first. First time away from home, first time as a student, first time alone. Except she’s not really alone she thinks, as she watches him rub pieces of fabric between two fingers.

 

She picks out 5 bodysuits to try on, all variations of black and cranberry, with lace detailing and gold clasps. He picks out a forest green one with velvet along the bodice and an open back. She raises her eyebrows at him and he only shrugs, saying that it matches her eyes.

She tries each one of them on, feeling the smooth material of the bodysuits and the delicate lace along her arms. She likes the cranberry one with the high collar, and bronze buttons down the back best. When she shows him, he traces his finger down each one, carefully following the dip in her spine. She tries on the rest of them, all plain with small details and mesh cut-outs, eventually getting to the darker green one he chose for her.

She twists around in the mirror in order to get a better look at the back. It’s a very open cut, putting her shoulders and lower back fully on display. The velvet at the front shifts and changes in the light like trees in a forest; it’s very pretty. She has to agree with him, it does match her eyes very well, making them pop just that much more, accentuating all the different shades of her irises.

He looks up from the bit of flooring he had been staring at when she steps out of the change room.

“I actually like it.” She says, running her hands over the textured velvet.

“Would I ever do you wrong?” He asks her with a lopsided smile.

She supposes he wouldn’t, as she changes and drapes it across her arm. It almost slips right off, sleek like silk and lightweight. It cascades like water, rippling fabric that reflects the light of the room. 

She pays for it at the front counter and buys him mints in a frog tin because they made him laugh. _“Look Tessa its a frog in a tutu.”_ He makes small talk with the cashier while she bags her purchase, asking about the store, and how busy its been. She really likes that about him. How naturally friendly and talkative he is, its like he has his own gravity, pulling people in left and right with pure charisma. Its never been a skill she could master, so she admires him instead.

She leaves the store with a new green bodysuit and his arm linked in hers.

 

They walk through the city. She avoids the cracks in the sidewalk, and he teases her for her superstitions. Mostly they talk, except this time its not with a receiver pressed to the side of her face at late hours.

He tells her about life in Ilderton, and she learns quickly how small it is. He tells her about his family, about his bothers who used to skate at the arena, and his mom who would let him watch at the boards while she coached. He never got into skating properly because he had chosen ballet, but he’d always had a pair of skates and an open invitation to skate while his mom packed up after practice.

He Tells her about his studio back home, his ballet teacher is the nicest person he has ever met. He tells her that she’s old, but strong and resilient. She has always been his biggest inspiration, and the one who encouraged him to pursue ballet when he wasn’t sure what he wanted to do. He tells her about the light that used to flicker in the storage closet, and how the studios ghost had probably caused it. He describes in great detail the time he had to be a prince once in a dance when he was younger, and the girls all refused to hold his hand, which makes her laugh to no end. There’s so much to him she doesn’t know. She wants to know who his favourite composer is and whether he preferrs barre or center work, but she also wants to know the colour of the walls in his room back home, and the name of his grade two teacher.

They end up at the Baskin Robbins on Church Street, where she orders chocolate ice cream with no toppings and he orders vanilla with every topping on the planet. 

There’s a younger girl by the counter standing up on tip toe in order to see all the flavours, and an older couple sharing a fudge sundae at a table in the corner, who all seem to possess this air of carelessness. She thinks how stark in contrast it is to the regiment of ballet, even though the school really is just a block away. Its strange, how completely different two places can be in such close proximity. Everything in balance she supposes.

Well, not _everything_.

She winces as the server pours spoonful of gummy worms, sprinkles, chocolate syrup, and M&M’s, onto what would have been a very good and plain vanilla ice cream. He looks at her and she scrunches her nose at him, prompting him to remind her that classes don’t start until tomorrow so _technically_ he’s in the clear. 

He insists on paying for them both, reminding her that she bought him some very classy mints in a frog container, and eventually she gives in.

They eat while walking, making their way back to the residence as they’re expected to be in attendance for orientation.

 

As she scoops another spoonful of the creamy desert she realizes she’s had a much better first day than she thought she would. She hasn’t worried about her parents or her classes at all since she caught her breath, and the fact makes her feel a bit guilty, but it also gives her a bit of hope. Its like she’s been injected with a certain confidence that she can make it through the weeks. She feels like Giselle at the harvest festival, crowned Queen, only feeling pure elation and happiness. She really is happy to be at the school, regardless of all the nerves that have been gathering in her head.

She glances over at him as she brings the spoon to her mouth and sees him already looking at her.

There’s something about his eyes and the way his eyebrows furrow just slightly in that moment, but she doesn’t have time to question it, as they’ve reached the residence and their sanctuary of each other is interrupted by the turning of a brass doorknob. 

He takes both of their empty cups and deposits them in the trash bin by the front door, putting one finger to his lips. Their sweet-fest will be a secret for them only.

They situate themselves in one of the rooms on the main floor, amongst several others, and settle on a couch while they wait for whoever’s in charge to run them through the rules and expectations.  
The room is a little too hot, packed with bodies and worn furniture, heat pressing down on the silence broken by small conversation or footsteps. She’s been told the air conditioner sometimes cuts out due to its age, a rickety thing that makes noise and faults most of the time. Just perfect for days when the mercury climbs in the Toronto sun.

To her left, a girl eats almonds one by one from a small container, nimble fingers turning them over one or twice before bringing them to her lips. She thinks her name would be something like Elizabeth, or Penelope, something old fashioned and regal to suit her long neck and prominent collarbones. 

She goes on, analyzing everyone in the room in that similar manner. A girl with light hair and long legs that could be an Olivia, another with a pointed nose and sharp elbows that might be a Diana. For a moment she makes eye contact with a girl sitting across from her and realizes they’re all doing the same thing. All over the room eyes flick back and forth, sizing each other up. There’s about 175 accepted to the summer program, and only a fraction who get accepted for the school year. It’s all really just a survival game. She sits there, worrying that keychain clipped to the bottom of her jacket between her fingers unconsciously. It’s a bit worn now, tiny scratches on the surface of the acrylic that weren’t there when she was handed it in January, but still new enough to look clean. In some ways its her good luck charm.

Much later a woman walks through the door with a clipboard and several pieces of paper. She tells them about how day to day life and the school will be and how they’re expected to act off campus. _Every day they do water training in a pool, and once every week they have to check in with the chiropractor. Its very important that they listen to their body and don’t take unnecessary risks that could jeopardize their heath, in order to get further in the program. There is absolutely no use of drugs, alcohol or sex on the property, and if they disobey those rules they will be asked to leave._

Its all rather simple, but some girls look up at the woman as if she’s speaking God’s word, knees drawn in tight to their chest and eyes focused. 

 

Soon enough they’re excused and free to do what they please until curfew, which ended up being playing games in a place called "Bodies Residence". It was a lot like a sleepover, too many games of telephone and mafia, nervous hands cupping around ears and whispers echoing in silence. He relayed a message to her once, something about purple flowers and garden fences. She felt a shiver go down her spine as he leaned into her side, words tickling her ear, and elbows grazing against the side of her arm. She didn’t get much of the message, almost none of it actually, deciding to whisper some nonsense into the ear of whoever was beside her.

 

She lay in bed that night, window open and sweat dripping down between her shoulder blades. Her comforter was pushed down to the very end of her bed, abandoned when the air conditioning cut out yet again. Somewhere between telephone and concentration, that key chain made its way into her hand, the cool metal along the back giving relief only to the tips of her fingers. She closed her eyes and let out a deep breath. 

 

Tomorrow was the day that ticking time bomb first started inside of her. Each second going by in her blissful ignorance. In hindsight, there was so much more she could’ve seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I say this literally every chapter but i pinky promise 100% that next chapter they start training.
> 
> I try to make it as accurate to a summer at the school as I can be but I have to make changes for plot n stuff.
> 
> Also thank you guys so much for the comments of the last chapter. They were so genuinely nice and lovely, I appreciate every single one :)


End file.
